


Fireworks

by ShaneShenanigans



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Relationship Study, Smut, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-15 07:11:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18068933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaneShenanigans/pseuds/ShaneShenanigans
Summary: A few pieces I liked from Gobblepot WIPS I know I'll never finish.Read only at the risk of being left unsatisfied. Most of these aren't full stories on their own and it's very unlikely they will be inserted into a full-length fic like I originally planned. I've marked the ones that I think can stand alone though.





	1. Index

**Author's Note:**

> OKEE DOKE So a little more details as to what this is.
> 
> I've written a lot of Gobblepot that's just laying around on my harddrive, and a lot of it I just know I'm never going to get to a point where I feel it's "finished" or even "finishable." This is especially true given the fact that I haven't really enjoyed season 5 that much, and I have a tendency to fandom hop.
> 
> Some of the scenes, or drabbles, can kind of stand alone fairly well. Others had pieces I just really wanted to share, I suppose. So this is my way of doing that.
> 
> All of these were meant to be part of something bigger-- something more satisfying and final than what they currently are. I'm hoping maybe some of them have something to offer as they are, though. At least ll one is kind of a full fic but I just knew I was never going to get it to an actual ending that I was satisfied with. Some of them were originally posted on tumblr so you may have read them already-- but most of them are here first and only.
> 
> Some are humor, others are some manner of angst relationship study, at least one is just porn... Anyway, as the summary says. Read at your own risk. There is slim to no chance I will be continuing or adding on to any of these!
> 
> This first chapter is just going to link you to the drabbles, I'll put little summaries of what each one is, as well as a note on whether or not I think they stand well alone/are satisfying to read by themselves. I'm going to be posting them slowly 1 at a time, and I don't know, maybe I'll even end up writing more little bits of nonsense to put up here before I go.

1\. [Strangers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18068933/chapters/42706595) \- One of my many attempts at a take on what happens in 1x13 between Jim and Oswald after the scene in Oswald's club cuts out. Right after Oswald offers Jim champagne. This one was always meant to stand alone, but there is no real romantic progress and it probably leaves something to be desired. Warning for URT (unresolved romantic tension c; ).

2\. [Friends](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18068933/chapters/42837302) \- Takes place between 1x20 and 1x21. Jim knows he owes Oswald and he doesn't like the sound of that, so he wants to be friends again. Potential warning for cheating (though it was accidental and I've decided that in this universe Jim isn't with Lee yet or at all- more on that in the note) and big unresolved sexual tension. No romantic or sexual satisfaction here. Oswald might be a little satisfied, for once.

3\. [Snowstache](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18068933/chapters/42957557#workskin) \- Jim and Oswald are eating dinner for the first time and they make a bet over which one can get their waiter's number. Takes place about 10-12 years in the future when Oswald is reformed and Jim has a mustache. Sort of a full fic except it lacks a lot of setting and background description I meant to add later, and the scenes skip around without proper transitions as well. Only warning is that this was written by a sappy, silly version of me.

4\. [Bad Dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18068933/chapters/43065119#workskin) \- Oswald has a good dream at a bad time. M rated, definitely of the unsatisfying brand. Does this count as UST? Probably.


	2. Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of my many takes on 1x13, not exactly my version of a best case scenario, but maybe my version of something with a more realistic lean. Sort of a relationships study from Jim's point of view wherein Jim is blatantly attracted to Oswald. And vice-versa. Again, this isn't very romantically satisfying.

_Maybe._

Jim looked across the table into big green eyes, the blur of an old woman and one of Oswald’s henchmen dancing behind them.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Jim wouldn’t have prided himself on intuition, but he wasn’t devoid of it either. It took a few close examinations of the big, green moon eyes to make him feel certain of it. When Oswald looked at Jim it was either like he wanted to be swept off his feet and taken on a magic carpet ride or like he wanted to be held down and fucked into a mattress. There was a certainly a part of Jim that was curious to know which one. Maybe it was both.

The other part, the rational part, reminded him that for so many complicated reasons, sleeping with Oswald Cobblepot wouldn’t be good for either of them. Would it?Would it create more wrinkles than it would scratch itches?

He was only half-way through a glass of champagne and Oswald was enthusiastically going over his reasons behind the decision for the decore. Jim met his eyes for the first time, and Oswald faltered a moment before he kept talking.

“It’s a work in progress, clearly.” He said, laughing sheepishly, the same way he had been all night.

“It’s not bad,” Jim said, not sure whether it was the fact that he was considering what Oswald would be like in bed or the champagne that caused him to humor the man on his rambling. “Obviously I’m no expert…” he looked around.

“But I’d say it looks the same as any other high-end place where criminals go to make deals get wasted…” that was his knee-jerk way of making the whole thing back-handed, but Oswald didn’t seem bothered. Instead he laughed.

Jim was glad he laughed, because maybe he found he didn’t actually want to make Oswald feel badly about it.

“You’re right, it’s a little cliche. But I’m sure I’ll come up with some more personal touches along the way,” Oswald spoke as if he already had some ideas up his sleeve. “I’m also open to suggestions…” him saying so was a suggestion in and out of itself, and Jim found himself feeling weaker. Even now, Oswald seemed to be pursuing his approval— even for something like this.

“Like I said, I’m no expert.” Jim said it as an excuse to not have any suggestions, but then he looked around “The red seemed like Fish’s thing, though. Maybe a different tint on the lighting…”

He looked back at Oswald to get an idea of what he thought of the suggestion, but simply found the man staring at him with wide eyes, mouth open just a little. His face started to turn red as he clearly realized he was just gaping. Finally, just after Jim allowed himself to vividly imagine what this man would do if he kissed, or lead somewhere private hand-in-hand, Oswald managed to find some words.

“Did you have something in mind?” The question was breathy, and as he spoke his eyes never managed to tear themselves away from Jim’s, as if he’d gotten stuck in them.

“Blue, or…” Jim looked at Oswald’s violet tie, then back up to his eyes, “…purple.”

Oswald smiled, and with it he seemed to finally let himself breath. “A man of taste,” he said, visibly impressed, or maybe something closer to enamored. Jim liked it. Liked the way it looked on him. And for that reason, this was getting dangerous.

Oswald was leaning closer, one of his hands sliding forward on the table. Jim didn’t have time to object to it, he spent too much time convincing himself he wanted to as he watched it and then it was too late. He was sure it was going to touch his hand, brush its fingers along his, but at the last second it quickly changed direction and Oswald picked up Jim’s empty glass instead.

“More champagne?” Oswald offered, already in the process of standing up, almost as if he was retreating.

“Ah…” Jim protested, raising his hand. Oswald stopped this time. 

“I should really get going,” Jim said. Oswald looked utterly crushed.

“Right,” he said, face breaking out into one of those smiles he used to hide what he really wanted to say. “You’re a busy man with a case to solve, I shouldn’t keep you…” his eyes downcast and his face turned redder.

Jim couldn’t help feeling bad for him, for the way he so clearly wanted… something. He could have kissed him, he wanted to kiss him for no other reason than to kiss him and it also would soften the blow of Jim leaving, but—

Of course he couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

“Let me know if you figure something out?” Jim said in reference to Flass, nodding shortly before turning to leave.

Oswald didn’t say anything, and Jim didn’t look back.


	3. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place between 1x20 and 1x21. Jim knows he owes Oswald and he doesn't like the sound of that, so he wants to be friends again. Potential warning for cheating (though it was accidental and I've decided that in this universe Jim isn't with Lee yet or at all- more on that in the note) and big unresolved sexual tension. No romantic or sexual satisfaction here. Oswald might be a little satisfied, for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is also set in Season 1. Originally this was going to be a full-length fic highlighting bits of canon and inserting romantic/sexual encounters between Jim and Oswald but I wrote it very early on during my time in this fandom and I managed to forget that Jim was with Lee during this time period. I tried coming up with some way to make it so she was in on the plan but I knew Jim was going to have to be actually into Oswald which I couldn't justify so I ended up scrapping the whole thing. Now it just kind of exists as a canon-divergent (in which Jim wasn't with Lee in this universe, I guess) single scene that doesn't end ideally.
> 
> On top of that I don't really like Jim in it in general, he's overly manipulative. This was one of the first things I wrote for them and it shows. I think the reason I want to post it is because I do like Oswald in it. It's sort of a victory for him, at least.

Oswald didn’t look as pleased to see him as he had each time before. It didn’t deter Jim, just reminded him of his earlier lack of composure with the man, complete with threats. The fact that Oswald wasn’t having him thrown out on sight was enough to maintain his resolve. He had to do this.

“Jim Gordon,” Oswald used his full named as he approached from the bar. Business seemed good, and despite his sour tone Jim could tell he wasn’t in a particularly bad mood, “If you’re here to pay back that favor, I haven’t thought of anything yet.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” Jim said, simply, shifting his weight and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Why, then? To ask me to do something else for you? I think you’re fresh out of IOU’s at this point, don’t you?”

“That’s not why, either,” Jim said, tone intentionally softer than usual, but Oswald’s feathers were still clearly too ruffled to notice. These cards were easier to play when they didn’t go unnoticed, but he should have expected some resentment after their earlier encounter, at least in comparison to Oswald’s past moon-eyed tendencies.

Oswald didn’t say anything this time, simply waited, lips pursed and body tense like he was holding something back. Jim wondered if Oswald wanted to hurt him. He wondered if Oswald was truly that sort of man— the kind that reacts violently out of emotion. He’d heard as much, but he’d never seen it in action.

“I wanted to apologize,” Jim said, simply, and watched the guarded rage melt off of Oswald slowly, watched his tightly knitted eyebrows turn into some brand of innocent, hopeful curiosity.

“Apologize?” Oswald questioned on a breath. Then he seemed to gather himself, and sputtered a laugh. “You must be joking.”

“I’m not,” Jim said. “You’ve been very helpful,” flashes of Delaware begging Jim not to hurt his family in the alley that night played through his mind and his words nearly faltered. He used the disgust stirring in his gut to glance away, as if shyly. 

“Questionable methods aside.” he made himself add, because one needs to lace dishonesty with honesty if it’s going to be believed.

Oswald was staring up at him, waiting, eyes full of wonder and curiosity, probably some impatience. Most importantly they held everything they had the first night Jim had visited Oswald at Maroni’s place to ask that favor. The night Oswald told him that friends do favors for friends, the one time he assured Jim he wouldn’t expect anything in return. Jim knew he couldn’t get back to that with apologies and smiles, he knew Oswald Cobblepot was smarter than that. But Jim also knew something else.

“I was distraught when I came to you. Barbara was in danger, if anything had happened to her it would have been my fault—”

Oswald raised a hand to cut him off, “Say no more,” Oswald said. “I’ve been through too much to hold grudges over such petty aggressions. I gave you something, you’ll give me something in return once I figure out what I need from you.”

Hearing those words, the exact reason Jim was here, only strengthened his certainty that this had to be done.

Jim heaved a sigh. “Thank you,” he said. “I guess I just wish I’d been more patient during our encounter. I didn’t mean for you to see me that way.”

Oswald laughed, genuinely, and Jim was sure he had him right where he wanted him.

“I too have a temper I sometimes fail to control,” he said, nodding while grinning with willing understanding. “Won’t you stay and have a drink? Today has been a successful day for both of us, hasn’t it?”

Jim frowned, strained his eyes, and looked around the bustling, noisy room full of cackling over the obnoxious rock music. “I’m not one for crowds,” he admitted. “Maybe I’ll come back later, after closing. Just the two of us?” He knew he was pushing the edge but if he didn’t jump he feared he may never even take an inch.

Oswald opened his mouth as if to speak but instead it just gaped, and his bottom lip quivered as he tried to find words. Instead he just nodded, and Jim felt himself smiling at the reaction without first telling himself he should.

“The, um, the club doesn’t close until 2,” Oswald managed to say to Jim’s shoes.

“Three, then,” Jim put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed gently, then dragged his hand off turned around, and left. He could feel Oswald’s eyes on his back all the way to the door.

o-o-o Three AM o-o-o

Jim was late, and late on purpose.   
   
Needless to say what he was doing was a risk. He had to be certain of Cobblepot's position in all of this to even think of trying it-- and moreso, trying it with any hope it would work.   
   
So when he walked into Oswald's at 3:55, and saw Oswald sitting alone with a bottle of champagne next to a half-full glass, looking somber; it was exactly what he wanted to see.   
   
A busy man waits fifteen minutes. A man with nothing better to do waits thirty. But only a man invested in the outcome waits a full forty-five minutes, and remains to start drinking his disappointment away by an hour.  
   
"Sorry I'm late," Oswald didn't notice him until he was less than ten feet away. He was completely alone, at least in this room. It was odd to think he trusted Jim that much, but then, Oswald had been spared by Jim when making that choice was at its most dangerous. Belief that Jim might remove him now was simply illogical.  
   
"Jim!" Oswald stood frantically, tripping over the chair and stumbling into the table leg with his bad leg, catching himself there but not before crying out in pain. Jim had surged forward to land a helping hand on his shoulder to catch him.   
   
"Oswald?" Jim said with concern as Oswald clenched his eyes shut and held his knee, holding back cries of pain. "Are you all right?" He held Oswald by both his shoulders now.   
   
"I'm fine, I'm fine." Oswald slipped out of his hold and straightened his tie and collar.   
   
"You're not drunk... are you?" Jim asked, delicately. That had not been part of his plan, and would have thrown a wrench into it. He needed clear-headed Oswald.  
   
"No, no." Oswald insisted, clearly embarrassed. “I’ve had very little, just clumsy I'm afraid," he gathered himself, and huffed out a sigh. "I'm so glad you came. There’s no time I’d rather share this with you than now.”

Jim nodded. “About that,” Jim asked, carefully. “What victory of yours are we celebrating, exactly?”A smile crept over Oswald’s face, and he stepped forward to pull out Jim’s chair. Jim sat in it warily, eager for an answer but not wanting to seem that way. A victory for Oswald Cobblepot could very well have meant trouble for the GCPD.

“You’ll find out tomorrow, I’m sure,” Oswald said as he sat down in his own seat.

“That sounds foreboding,” Jim criticized, and Oswald smiled closed-mouth, and shrugged cryptically.

“I thought we were friends. You can’t tell me?” Jim asked, reaching for the champagne to pour his own glass.

“Now, Jim,” Oswald raised his eyebrows. “Keep only using that word when it benefits you and I’ll think you’re using me.” He punctuated the words by tilting his glass back against his lips and finishing what was left of it.

Jim smiled, “you’re right,” he said. “Hard not to try, especially now. You have so much to offer,” he let suggestiveness seep into his voice and scared himself with how easy it was.

“You know I want to help you, James Gordon,” Oswald said. “After tomorrow, perhaps a few days depending on how things go, you’ll see. I’ll be in a much more secure position to do so.”

“Guess I’ll just have to take your word for it,” Jim said, smiling, and raised his glass. “To whatever the hell you did today,”

Oswald laughed, loudly in fact, and enthusiastically raised his glass to clink with Jim’s.

o-o-o

For a half hour or so, Jim tried to keep Oswald doing much more talking than drinking. It seemed to be working, as he was still nursing his second glass. Jim on the other hand had been subtly gulping down mouthfuls when he was sure Oswald was least likely to notice. He’d need courage for what he was planning to do, and for the fallout were it to fail.

“How long were you planning on staying?” Oswald asked.

Jim blinked, eyes wide. “Are you asking me to leave?”

“Oh! Heavens, no!” Oswald said, reaching his hand out to put it on top of Jim’s for assurance. “I just… well, it is late. Or, early, if you will.”

Jim looked down at Oswald’s hand on his. His hands were soft— Jim knew that, as it wasn’t the first time he’d touched them. Perhaps not so much objectively soft as they were simply softer than Jim expected. They were cold, but it just made Jim want to curl his hand against them, hold them and warm them up.

Jim turned his hand over, and held Oswald’s in his own. It was easy, so easy. Raising his eyes to Oswald’s and looking into them, feeling like he could have gotten lost there.

“I’ll stay a little longer, if you don’t mind.” He said, running his thumb over Oswald’s knuckles.Oswald was visibly speechless, mouth open, eyes shifting from Jim’s face to their hands. Jim kept his eyes on his rotating thumb, feeling his cheeks grow hot as Oswald observed.

“In that case…” Oswald said, finally able to make words, “I have a room upstairs, it’s much more comfortable and… well, homey than this empty club.”

“All right,” a smile crept over Jim’s face. “Let’s go.”

Oswald pulled his hand from Jim’s almost too abruptly, and stood up just as panicked. Jim pretended not to notice as his movement toward the back of the club seemed to resemble a retreat. He couldn’t help feeling a little like a fox stalking nervous prey, especially considering how many times Oswald took deep breaths to calm himself. Once before he started to walk, once before he got his keys out of his pocket— and nearly dropped them— and once before he’d opened a door in the back to reveal a staircase.He looked over his shoulder to Jim, who was standing a few feet back. His lips twitched into a small smile, and he started up. Jim followed wordlessly, overly aware of the soft sound every one of his footsteps made on the glossy wooden steps.

The staircase lead out into what appeared to be a small apartment. The room they entered had a couch, a table, a radio— no television, but Jim could see a kitchen and a bathroom branching off. It was fairly plain for what Jim assumed must’ve been Oswald’s home, like a hotel room no one had bothered to decorate.

“Do you live here?” Jim asked.

Oswald shrugged. “I guess I live in a few different places right now. But I spend some nights here,” he said. “Whatever knack I do or don’t have for interior design is much more accurately represented by the club decor,” he added.

Jim nodded, because that made sense. “I don’t think I ever said, but it looks good down there.”

“Thank you,” Oswald smiled shortly, letting his eye contact linger as if searching Jim’s eyes for something. Jim had a little too much to drink to be worried about what he’d find. Certainly enough to admit to himself that this would be a lot easier if he just let his mind and eyes go where they wanted to go. Where another part of him didn’t want them to want to go.

“I’d offer to make us drinks, but I think it might be time to cut you off,” Oswald said, offering a short laugh. “Trust me, you don’t want to be drunk or hungover in a few hours.” He took a seat on the sofa— or more, fell onto it, both his hands landing on his knees. He confined himself to the farthest cushion, but didn’t appear to be straining for distance.Jim huffed at his words, and casually slid onto the middle cushion where he settled, not too close, but close enough.

“I’m getting more and more worried about this surprise of yours,” Jim said, his words not keeping up with his body as he loosened his tie. Oswald watched his fingers pull at it and the collar open just slightly, mouth dry.

Oswald forced a sheepish smile “Don’t fret too much. I’m just looking forward to some things,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. Then he gasped. “Jim!” He jabbed Jim’s shoulder with his fingers. “Are you just here to try and get me to talk?”

“No!” Jim barked, shoving at the hand that had poked him hard enough in the upper arm for it to hurt and then rubbing at the sore spot.

Oswald sighed, and leaned back. “Well, then why are you still here?” He said, relaxing again. “You must want something,” his voice was more expectant than suggestive, but Jim had a feeling he knew what he was asking.

He wouldn’t have said Oswald was his type at a glance but he certainly would have said his look was different, intriguing, certainly not unattractive and perhaps more than that. What he wouldn’t have said was that he wondered what sounds he made when he was touched, what his face looked like in throes of pleasure, what he’d ask for, offer, give. This was all too easy and for a moment he may have forgotten why he was doing it.

“I want to be friends, Oswald.” Jim said. Oswald looked at him with brightened curiosity, but not quite the moon-eyes Jim wanted— yet. Unable to find more words to explain himself, Jim raised a hand, and placed it on Oswald’s knee. Oswald looked at the hand, speechless, then back at Jim, saw his lips tug on one side into a short smile.“I’m not sure what you mean,” Oswald said, voice cracking in a few places despite his obvious attempt to maintain composure.

Jim tilted his head with meaning, and slid his hand inward and down, spreading his fingers wide before squeezing midway-up Oswald’s inner-thigh as he leaned closer. Oswald’s breath started to shake, it appeared some words got stuck in his throat, his eyes finally fluttered shut as Jim contracted the hand on his thigh.

Mustering confidence, Jim leaned into Oswald’s ear. “Friends do things for each other because they’re friends,” he said, huskily, the delivery of the words lacking because they were business and his head was lost in something else.

He let his breath roll over Oswald’s ear and watched him shudder, felt the overwhelming urge to slide his hand up further. He needed Oswald to make some kind of affirming move.

Finally, Oswald turned his head, leaning it over the couch so his neck was stretched sideways and opened his eyes as he tugged at his tie. He looked at Jim like he was drunk on just the sight of him, almost panting, eyes half-hooded and exploring every detail. He smiled then, and there was something almost sinister behind it.

Jim didn’t like how much that drove him, but couldn’t stop himself from leaning in to taste those conniving lips. Oswald responded slowly, but eagerly, hands shooting up to grab Jim’s jacket and pull him closer. Jim was immediately almost all tongue, and Oswald opened and met him half-way. He started urging Oswald to lay back, but Oswald had other plans, and swung his leg over Jim’s thighs instead, pushing him back and straddling him. He shoved Jim hard against the back of the couch by his lapels, and reclaimed his mouth like he owned it.

Oswald wasn’t necessarily a good kisser, it was clear he hadn’t spent a lot of time practicing miracles with his mouth. But he was fierce, bold, and if Jim was placing it right, almost angry. Jim hadn’t expected any of it, but as he gripped Oswald’s hips for the life of him, he found he didn’t mind. Oswald was straddling him far too high up, perhaps to favor his bad leg, but Jim was aching to feel him against his lap as teeth pulled on his lips and nipped his tongue. Holding Oswald tightly in place, he rolled his hips up to rub firmly against Oswald’s and rocked them once, twice—

“Owe!” Jim jerked back, tasting blood.

Oswald grinned, and Jim glimpsed some red on his lips from having bitten a hole in Jim’s bottom one before he leaned into Jim’s ear. Jim was far from a masochist but he was sure he’d had too much to drink when he found himself more intrigued than anywhere near put-off enough to push Oswald away for it.

Oswald strained himself to push his abdomen down against Jim’s needy hips, which bucked up eagerly in response.

“I know what you’re doing,” Oswald said into Jim’s ear. Jim’s eyes doubled in size. “You think if we’re sleeping together I won’t come to collect that favor? That it’ll save you from tarnishing your perfect name?” His lips dragged over Jim’s neck, feeling his jaw clench as he swallowed hard. Jim raised his hands to Oswald’s shoulders, pushing him back and holding him there. Oswald was almost shaking with rage, fire in his eyes.

“Really, Jim.” he spat, and jerking out of Jim’s hold and off his lap and stumbling to his feet. “The fact that you would even think I’d give up that kind of advantage for— whatever this is,” Oswald started to fix his tie.

“Oswald—,” Jim tried, voice strained. His plan had failed, and he’d been discovered but that somehow didn’t make the top of his list of concerns.

“It’s insulting,” Oswald finished in a huff.

“Oswald…” Jim leaned forward, reaching a hand out to take one of Oswald’s in his own. He rubbed his thumb over the back of it as Oswald looked at him with half-expectancy and half I’m-going-to-bite-you-again.

“Fine. You caught me. I’ll do what you ask when the time comes but—,” he tugged lightly on Oswald’s hand, hoping the gesture could convey how much he wanted Oswald in his lap again. “Please.” He said, meaningfully, letting his eyes wander up and down as suggestively as he could. It wasn’t hard.

Oswald stared at him in only disbelief, before yanking his hand out of Jim’s and stepping back out of reach. “Sorry I bit you,” he said. “You should go. Maybe put some ice on that. As I’ve said, big day tomorrow—” he looked at the clock that read 6:00 AM. “—or, today.”

Jim felt the full weight of everything that had just happened as reality set in. He deflated there on Oswald’s sofa, looking pointedly away, and suddenly extremely tired on top of definitely still horny.

“You can see yourself out,” Oswald said, making his way toward the stairs they’d come up. He disappeared down them without another word, and Jim was left on his own, half his mind still trying to process what the hell had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another reason i wanted to throw this up was to let people know that my other more pressing fic, tail feathers, should update tonight or early tomorrow morning. Sorry it's a bit later than I intended!


	4. Snowstache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Oswald are eating dinner for the first time and they make a bet over which one can get their waiter's number. Takes place about 10-12 years in the future when Oswald is reformed and Jim has a mustache. Sort of a full fic except it lacks a lot of setting and background description I meant to add later, and the scenes skip around without proper transitions as well. Only warning is that this was written by a sappy, silly version of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a lot more sappy and light-hearted. Figured this fic needed a break from all the broody 'our relationship is so complicated' stuff.
> 
> Supposed to take place well into the future, when Oswald's big n round and Jim has a mustache. I also wanted to suggest that Oswald is reformed in this, and has been for about a year. That's not really as established as I intended it to be because while this is technically an entire story rather than a single scene it is the skeleton of one. It skips around a little too much and there's not enough background-- I'd planned to add that stuff and post this as it's own fic around Christmas time, but I never did, and now Christmas is a long time ago and I don't really feel like putting in the effort to post something on on the wrong date.
> 
> Still, I feel like the fic itself might be follow-able as is, so I figured I'd throw it up as one of these.
> 
> Since the fic starts off in a confusing spot, my plans for an opening were something along the lines of:
> 
> Jim and Oswald are at a ceasefire get together of some kind 1 year earlier around New Years, Jim gets drunk and when Oswald says he doesn't normally do anything for Christmas, Jim assures he's going to take Oswald out for dinner the next Christmas. This is that next Christmas, and it kicks off while they're already eating.
> 
> As you can see I pretty much only got around to writing the actual date part.

It wasn’t a date. He knew he was going to have to keep reminding himself of that. It was just dinner, at a casual restaurant where people with platonic, casual relationships commonly ate together. Just the product of a drunk version of him demanding he do something with Oswald for Christmas after Oswald admitted he didn’t usually do anything for the Holidays the year before.Oswald probably would have forgotten it, but this year Jim got drunk in his bar again and just had to bring it up. The drunk version of him really didn’t have as many boundaries these days. Things may have mellowed out between them, but that didn’t mean their conflicting occupations allowed for fraternization. Besides, if Oswald ever did have some romantic interest in him, it was probably long gone by now. Funny how often the same feelings occur, but only at different times.

Jim sighed as he looked in the mirror. He’d done himself up quite a bit more than usual, and he didn’t know whether to hope Oswald noticed or didn’t notice. Part of him had even humored the idea of shaving his mustache, as Oswald made fun of it almost every time he saw him these days. But, Jim liked it, and it wasn’t a date, so it didn’t matter what Oswald thought of the way he looked.

He pouted and tried not to think about why Oswald hated it so much. But Barbara was already gone, so he hardly had anything to distract himself from that insecurity. He needed a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend.

Or he needed this to be a date.

o-o-o

It wasn’t a date.

Oswald kept reciting that to himself as he caught himself being too meticulous about which tie to wear, as he nearly removed his suit to try on another, more formal one, as he thought about whether he had enough time to get his shoes shined.

Why he kept treating it as if it were a date was a topic he didn’t allow himself to think on any further. He didn’t go on many dates but casual dinners with actual friends were even rarer, it seemed. So perhaps it was just natural for him to keep mistaking it as being one.

That’s what he told himself, anyway. It was impossible that something like this could ever be a date because Jim Gordon was only interested in dating women. His lingering schoolboy crush on Jim Gordon was of absolutely no consequence or relevance. In fact, it wasn’t lingering at all. Thoroughly snuffed out.

This definitely was not a date.

o-o-o

“He’s cute,” Jim said, not meeting Oswald’s eyes at first as he tipped the bottle back. He was a little drunk, and there was ice that needed breaking, and maybe he just felt comfortable being himself at that moment. A year ago that would have been a strange thing to feel with Oswald Cobblepot, but the past twelve months had changed things, and Jim could think of few people he felt more at ease with.

He raised his eyes then to Oswald’s, finding him looking back at him with a difficult to read expression. Jim held their gaze until it was suggested that he was expecting a reply.

“Cute?” Was all Oswald got out, and Jim was half sure his voice had cracked.

“You don’t think so?” Jim leaned back in his chair, and glanced across the room where their waiter was hanging order tickets over the bar.

“No, I…” Oswald followed his line of sight, words caught in his throat, then shrugged. “He’s fine.” As soon as the words left Oswald’s mouth his eyes grew and shifted down to the table as his face turned a slight shade of pink, as if he hadn’t meant to say it.

Jim shrugged, pretending not to notice. “Maybe you should ask for his number.”

Oswald’s brow furrowed, his mouth open slightly as he regarded Jim from across the table as if trying to read his mind.

“Maybe you should,” he countered, like he’d interpreted it as some kind of mockery and was throwing back a _“no, you!”_

Jim seemed to consider, “I kind of want to.”

Oswald sighed. “It’s not polite to ask people personal questions or hit on them while they’re working,” he relaxed as he sipped his drink.

Jim looked at him, amused that Oswald Cobblepot of all people was reciting a code of conduct Jim doubted he ever had a need to put into practice.

“I think it’s the way you ask,” Jim continued.

Oswald shrugged. 

“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe it’s only welcome if they’re also interested?”

“And how do I know if I don’t ask?”

“Leave him your phone number on the receipt and see if he calls?”

“That sounds creepy and impersonal.”

Oswald rolled his eyes. “Forget I said anything. Do what you want.” 

Just as he was finishing, the object of their conversation appeared alongside the table, Jim smoothly greeting him with a smile and a thank you as he placed Jim’s entree in front of him. 

He placed Oswald’s as well and somehow seemed if only slightly more personal about it, slow movements and waiting until Oswald was looking him in the eye to smile and say “you’re welcome.” He probably just wanted a good tip, but Oswald still turned red.

Jim noticed.

“I bet I can get it before you.” Jim said, smirking. Oswald looked to him, a little terrified of that playful look on his face. In the years he’d known Jim Gordon he’d only seen his more silly side recently, but he also knew it knew no bounds.

Oswald fought with the urge to outright deny the challenge. He didn't necessarily want their waiter's number, but Jim had that look in his eye, he was having a good time, happy to be here and Oswald didn't want that to end. And when he really thought about it, a little bet sounded fun.

"All right," He also had a pretty good idea of how he could win. "You're on."

o-o-o-o

“Excuse me,” Oswald said to his waiter to get his attention as he was about to pass by the restrooms. He could feel Jim’s eyes on them from across the restaurant, and turned sideways so there was no chance he could make out any of what they were saying.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” He started, carefully. “My friend thinks I’m asking you for your phone number…”

The waiter stared at him— Darren, his name was, as Oswald was just now reading on his nametag because he hadn’t paid attention when he introduced himself.

“We have a bet about which one of us can get it… I want to win.”

‘Darren’s look of confusion and uncertainty turned into an amused grin, and he laughed.

“You want me to give you a fake number to trick your friend into losing a bet?”

Oswald shrugged, giving him a winning smile.

“That’s pretty sneaky.”

“Well, I’m far from a saint. But I’m also certainly not a man who asks for hand-outs. I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you give me your actual phone number and answer it when I call in about an hour to prove it isn’t fake. I promise I won’t call after that, and you can block my number in any way you wish.”

Darren frowned at first, appearing reluctant. Oswald knew there was a chance he wouldn’t give his phone number to a stranger no matter what, but he also knew that a hundred dollar tip on a server’s salary was hard to resist.

A few moments passed, and Darren took a deep breath. Then he smiled flirtatiously at Oswald, and nodded, clearly in an attempt to play the part.

“All right, I’ll do it.” He and walked over to the bar where there was a pad of paper and pen. He wrote down ten numbers and ripped the page off, then turned and handed it to Oswald.

“Excellent!” Oswald said. “I’ll leave the hundred as a tip. Obviously if I don’t, you won’t be expected to answer the call. If I do, you’d better answer, or I’ll find you.” Oswald winked, and turned as he watched the amused look on his waiter’s face turn into a terrified one.

Oswald had to use the bathroom, but when he returned to their table he'd be able to rub it in Jim's face.

o-o-o-o-o

Jim was picking at the vegetables on his plate when Oswald returned, pushing cauliflower and broccoli around as if he was hoping to find another brussel sprout.

"Bad news for you, Jim," Oswald said, but before he could continue Jim raised up two fingers straight in front of Oswald's nose, a small piece of paper between them. It shut him right up.

Jim stood as he unfolded it, and held it out to Oswald. A phone number.

Oswald stared at it for at least fifteen seconds, dumbfounded.

“But I…” he furrowed his brow, fishing around in his pocket. He found the folded piece of paper, and held it up as well.

“When did you get it?” Oswald said, feeling irritated and thwarted.

“When you were in the bathroom, right after you got yours.”

So it was after Oswald had talked with him. The waiter was far stupider than Oswald would have guessed. If he wanted to accept Oswald’s bribe and actually give Jim Gordon his number, he would have been smart to do it _after_ he got the money.

“They’re the same number, so it’s probably real.” Jim said.

Silence remained between them and Oswald couldn’t help feeling utterly discouraged. It wasn’t just that he hadn’t won the bet— neither of them had, but he’d had to bribe the guy and Jim got the number fair and square. Of course he had, though. Oswald didn’t know why he’d dared expect any different.

Technically, Jim had won, and somehow Oswald found he didn’t like being the only one that knew it.

“Guess he likes both of us?” Jim offered, smirking a little, and Oswald sighed as he crumpled the number in his fist.

“No, Jim. He likes you.”

Jim frowned suddenly, brow furrowing.

“But… you—,” Jim reached a hand out weakly for the scrap of paper Oswald was currently destroying.

“Hey,” a voice cut in, and both of them turned their heads immediately. Their waiter stood just a foot away, hands in his pockets with a tiny bit of a sheepish smile.

“To be honest with you guys, the number isn’t real. I’m engaged.” 

Jim and Oswald shared a look of sympathy, neither of them realizing the information was just as irrelevant to the other as it was to himself.

“So neither of you would have gotten it. Even if both of you hadn’t just bribed me to win your little bet… and, by the way, I still expect the promised compensation as I did what you both asked.”

“Wait, what?” Oswald looked at Jim, gaping at the look of obvious guilt. Jim attempted a small smile like a puppy making a cute face to ease resentment for chewing shoelaces. Oswald just had his mouth open, couldn’t speak.

“So pay up,” the man said, holding his hand out to Oswald.

Oswald didn’t shut his gaping mouth as he shook his head in disbelief, reaching into his wallet like he was told.

“You bribed him too?” He finally found the words, stamping his cane as he gave Jim a pointed look. Perturbed, he pulled five twenty-dollar bills out of his wallet.

“I knew you would,” Jim said. “You really thought I didn’t know you would cheat?”

“I was up against you! I had to cheat!” Oswald shoved the money into the man’s hand, shooting him a tight, resentful frown.

“Please, you would have cheated no matter what,” Jim was pulling out his wallet too, much more reluctantly.

“As if!” Oswald barked, watching Jim very slowly sift through the bills in his wallet as if he was saying good-bye to each and every one of them. 

“You couldn’t just stick to using your god-given good looks and less unfortunate leg circumstances to make it slightly fair…” he grumbled.

“Oswald…” Jim paused as he was in the middle of pulling two twenties from his wallet. He was going to say something reassuring while handing them over, but Oswald cut him off with a flabbergasted scowl.

“Forty!” Oswald exclaimed, stamping his cane again. “I had to give you a hundred and you give it to him for forty!?”

“Hey, you offered the hundo to begin with, man. I had to talk this guy up from twenty,” he gestured toward Jim, who shifted his weight in discomfort as Oswald gave him the most disapproving frown of his life.

“Well!” Oswald barked, loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear even though they were cornered away from most of the patrons. “Enjoy your one-hundred and forty dollar tip! The service was mediocre! We won’t be coming back!” Oswald patted the man on the shoulder. He didn’t seem to even hear Oswald, still grinning from ear to ear thanks to his new handful of cash.

Oswald turned, starting to leave with vigor in his long stuttered strides toward the door. Jim had only taken a single step to follow when—

“Hey,” a hand came down on his shoulder and he stopped, looking back in askance.

“I gotta ask… why didn’t you want my number for real? You straight?”

“No…” Jim said, scratching the side of his face and saying it low like it was a little bit of a secret.

“You know he likes you too, right?” The man said, a little smirk on his lips as he watched Jim’s face pale and his jaw drop open. “You’re both obvious. Nevermind the fact that you were both more interested in one-upping the other than you were in actually getting my number.”

“I was just…” Jim started and then stopped himself, glancing at Oswald’s back. Just as he did Oswald looked beside him and found the space empty, then whipped around to look for him. Jim turned back to the man, opening his mouth to finish.

“Come on, don’t lie,” the man said, smiling. “It’s Christmas.”

Another moment passed, somewhere in which Jim looked at Oswald again to find him turned fully around and clearly waiting. Jim sighed, and looked back at their former waiter.

“It’s complicated,” he said, not as confidently as he’d hoped to.

The man rolled his eyes. “Complicated. Right. That’s what they all say.”

Jim’s eyes shifted down and away, weight shifting with discomfort as he found himself unable to look at Oswald but desperately wanting to go to him just to escape.

“Like I said. It’s Christmas,” his voice was softer now. Jim met his eyes above the little, almost childishly enthusiastic smile on his lips. “There’s magic everywhere. Use some of it.”

Jim looked at Oswald again, who gave him wide expectant eyes and spread his arms as if to ask what the hell Jim was waiting for in the rudest way possible. He found himself wanting to smile, found himself thinking about how Oswald didn’t have to wait for him. They weren’t planning on any other events and could easily have left separately. But there he was, just expecting his presence, hands out front on his cane in some almost sarcastic display of impatience.

He looked nice. He always looked nice.

Jim let his eyes drag across the floor, decisions being made in his mind as he raised them back to his former waiter, who was quietly studying him.

“…thanks.” Was all Jim said. Not another word before trailing after Oswald, who had gone as far as to start tapping his foot. He released and over-dramatic sigh of relief when Jim finally got close to him. Jim just shot him a small smile as he walked past him toward the exit.

“What did he say?” Oswald demanded, clearly still immensely frustrated by the whole ordeal. Jim said nothing as he pushed the door open, stepped outside, and then held it open. Oswald didn’t so much as thank him before hurrying out of it and asking again.

“What did he say to you?”

Jim still didn’t answer, and instead placed a hand on his lower back to prod him along, walking them until they cleared the outer corner of the restaurant, putting them just inside an alley to block some of the cold wind and snowflakes.

Snowflakes. It was snowing now. The white flecks in Oswald’s hair were lit up by the restaurant’s sign and were flawlessly symmetrical fractals.

“Why are we stopped?” Oswald barked a new question, rubbing his hands together, still choc-full of huff and puff about every new development.

“He said he thinks you like me,” Jim said, casually and honestly. Oswald froze and then his brow furrowed, he opened his mouth and his bottom lip quivered like he’d been insulted and was searching his mind for a rebuttal.

“Well—,” he finally spoke, turning away to exit they alley as he did, and throwing his hands up in the air, “that’s just ridiculous, I—,”

Jim stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, turning him back around, catching him by the waist and placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He waited, pulling back just a hair, so his lips were as close to his as they could be without touching. Oswald didn’t move or protest, and when Jim opened his eyes Oswald’s were just fluttering open, a snowflake settling just on his eyelash. Jim’s breath hitched, and he tilted his head, kissing him full on the lips and feeling Oswald relax into him, his tense body loosening so it dipped closer. His hands found their way up from his sides, clinging onto the outer seems of Jim’s jacket, fingers curling into the material like it was the only thing keeping him on this plain.

Their lips parted, and Oswald’s eyes were shut, his mouth still open and his body lax like it had stopped working.

“Jim…” he managed a whisper, voice light but still strained, almost needy.

“He also said he thought I liked you…” Jim said, and Oswald licked his lips as his eyes fluttered open. Jim smiled at him, the vulnerably awed expression on his face and the way he just let it hang there.

“Oh…” Oswald said, closing his eyes as they rolled back into his head, breath coming out white as he allowed his hands to fall from Jim’s jacket. One to his side, and the other to Jim’s side, finding his hand there, touching it carefully with his index finger. Jim noticed almost immediately and took Oswald’s hand into his own, raising it up and lacing their fingers together as the snow fell between them.

“Jim…” Oswald’s voice came out cracked as he stared at their linked hands. “…please,” his eyes flicked up to Jim’s.

“Please?” Jim tilted his head curiously.

“Keep kissing me,” Oswald raised his hand again and grabbed onto Jim’s sleeve like he was begging for it, the facade and denial in complete shambles. Jim could have drawn it out, could have made him wait, hell— gotten him on his knees. But the fact of the matter was he wanted to be kissing Oswald again too. So he did.

This time Oswald clung to him like he wouldn’t let go, hands reaching and grabbing just a little further each time, arms pressed so tightly, desperately to hold him. Jim found himself holding on just as tightly, for as long as he could.

“Take me home,” Jim whispered against Oswald’s ear, one he somehow found with his lips.

Oswald pulled back immediately, nodding in response to the request as he fumbled at the buttons on his phone that he’d pulled out of nowhere. In under a second he had it against his ear.

“Pick me up outside of Ella’s immediately,” he said, and then hung up. He turned to the road, taking a step out of the alley and onto the sidewalk because he didn’t think he could look at Jim Gordon right now without clinging to him again.

Jim spoke up. “How long before he—,” he was cut up when a black sedan cruised up beside them, its speed considerable until it came to a sudden and yet still smooth stop.

Oswald approached the vehicle in some hurry, stopping once he got his hand on the door handle. He looked back at Jim as he opened it, nodding him over and only managing not to shake with anticipation. Jim bowed his head to hide an amused smile as he advanced toward the open door, sliding in as smoothly as ever.

Oswald closed his eyes and he took a deep breath, still standing outside the car for just a moment. He held it in as he got in as well, taking a seat on the opposite side. Jim had gone all the way to the far window, and Oswald found himself too nervous to slide any closer than the opposite side.

He closed his door with some frustration, and signaled the driver to move.

They road in silence. Oswald stole glances at the side of Jim’s face every once in a while, noting the soft calmness as he watched the snowflakes fall outside the window. He still had a few clinging to his mustache, and Oswald had to force down the smile that tried to form on his lips. He didn’t know if he’d ever seen Jim Gordon looking so at peace, nor did he think the sight of him had ever made him feel so many things at once.

He didn’t know how he would have described it, except perhaps that for the first time in a long, long time, looking at him there across the seats…

It felt like Christmas.


	5. Bad Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald has a good dream at a bad time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be advised: This is the absolute worst thing I've ever written. Mostly because it's completely unsatisfying in that the entire thing is just a plotless wet dream. But there's something about it I don't completely hate, and may god have mercy on my soul for that.

“Jim?” Oswald scrambled to free his hands from under the covers. They were all he had to defend himself in his pajamas, wrapped up like a burrito in his king-sized bed. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” He gripped the edges of his blanket, sheet, and quilt all at once, and crinkled his whole face at Jim Gordon. Jim didn’t move or speak, just stood there at the foot of Oswald’s bed, blankfaced yet somehow sinister. 

“How did you get in?”

Jim’s lips twitched into a smile, and Oswald panicked further.

“This is breaking and entering! I’m—,” his breath started coming in strained huffs, “Gabe!” He shouted. Jim had started to loosen his tie, and Oswald cut himself off midway through trying to shout louder as his eyes zeroed in on the movement.

“You seem like you need to relax, Oswald,” Jim said.

Oswald’s jaw fell open when Jim started to crawl onto the bed. Like a fucking panther or some shit, but lazier. Hands and knees, crawling over Oswald’s feet and then up his body, the tip of his tie dragging against his thigh to chest along the way.

“Jim…” Oswald was panicking, but he was also turned on and it was hard to believe that wasn’t Jim’s intention. He found himself submitting, lying back when Jim crawled up close enough to his face to force him down, head now on the pillow with Jim on all fours over him.

Oswald’s breath was heaving even has he tried to steady it. He couldn’t move aside from his heaving shoulders, half his mind just screaming that if this was a dream he sure as hell didn’t want to wake up.

Jim raised a hand to his tie again, this time pulling it loose and then over his head, and dropping it on Oswald’s face so part of the neckloop fell over his mouth, just beneath his nose. Oswald breathed it in without a second thought, inhaled Jim’s cologne mixed with his own unique smell and his eyes rolled back.

Jim sat back until he was a light weight on Oswald’s hips, not quite touching his groin as he slid off his jacket. Oswald closed his eyes tightly to resist the urge to buck upward into them— he didn’t know what the consequence for moving was, but he didn’t want to find out. 

He opened them just in time to watch Jim stretch out an arm to drop the jacket on the opposite side of the bed. He watched it crumple until he saw Jim’s hands move to his top button and his eyes darted back with wide interest.

Oswald stared, eyes so wide they felt like they were going to fall out, and Jim’s gaze stayed locked on his face with every move. He undid one button, revealing just a tease of his chest where it connected with neck. Then the second, far too slowly, unclothing the dip of his collar bone, and made Oswald’s mouth run dry. He reached up before he thought about it, wanting Jim to move faster, wanting to push the shirt more out of the way. Grab it by both sides and pull until the buttons broke—

Jim grabbed his hands roughly by the wrists before he could get them on anything, and shoved them back to pin them against the pillow above his head.

“Keep them there,” He ordered, almost in a growl, “stay just like that.” He pushed the covers further down Oswald’s body, to his thighs and placed himself above them, still straddling him. Oswald was getting the picture, but he’d been half-hard since Jim had dropped his tie on his face, and that problem was only escalating.

Still, Jim took it slow with the buttons, but on the third, Oswald’s mouth started to water when he realized Jim wasn’t wearing any kind of undershirt. There was just an expanse of skin underneath, and Oswald’s fingers twitched and tingled and longed to touch.

“Jim, I know you’re not supposed to look a gift horse in the mouth, but—,”

“Oswald,” Jim said with some authority, though soft, like a friend. “If you’re going to talk, say something worthwhile.”

Oswald looked even more confused.

“Tell me what you want,” Jim said, getting down to the last button and Oswald immediately thought about his metaphorically pinned hands.

“Well I want to touch you—,”

“Don’t ask,” Jim interrupted, placing a finger against Oswald’s lips, “Just say it.”

Oswald’s chest started to heave more quickly as resolve boiled up inside him. “I want you. Is that what you want to hear?” He said breath coming in fast little pants. “I want you all the time. I want you to tear into me when you’re angry to let off steam, hold me down… I want you to fuck me,” he said, raising his head aggressively off the pillow, but not breaking Jim’s hand rule. Jim responded with a moan and ground down against his lower belly.

Oswald bucked his hips and rocked hard against him, “I want you to stay, naked, in my bed, all day James Gordon,” he let loose, “I want you as a fucking mattress warmer, and I want you to _love_ it.”

Jim seemed impressed and he raised his eyebrows, nodding as he shrugged his shirt off backwards, over his shoulders. Oswald’s mind drifted from his far off-fantasy as his eyes drifted down Jim’s chest, greedily raking over all of it and zeroing in on his belt.

“Please,” He asked, voice cracking too much for it to not sound like begging. He lifted his hands slowly, in his mind pleading with Jim not to push him away again. Jim simply watched him, waited as Oswald moved his hands closer, reaching for his belt nervously as if he expected to be stopped. Once close enough he grabbed greedily onto the leather band and pulled, unclasping it in a swift, skilled movement, and then getting as far as unzipping him before Jim grabbed his wrists again and pinned him down, this time time with his entire body.

He rocked his hips hard into Oswalds, holding his hands down above his head, face less than inches away. Oswald’s breath came in huffs and spilled over his lips, and then Oswald jerked his head up and smashed their lips together, kissing him too hard at first but making up for it by sucking his bottom lip and then his tongue.

Something from nowhere smacked him in the side of his face and he jumped out of his skin, opening his eyes to the sight of a dashboard, windshield, and a paper ball in his lap.

“Rise and shine sleepyhead.” Maroni said, and Oswald rolled his eyes, hard.

Fin.


End file.
